
POEMS 


b y 
HERBERT MULLER HOPKINS 









__HSI 
Ml 






mi 






•v. 



■- '■ ■ Y 



*'Y7~33P^ 
Fir ■ '■"»-* r .' .■. 



bBnhI 



^ 

Tt 



HUmRMH 



'*'■'- 



S5i 






& 



raMMr ...» - jmf* Ic 






■ • - ' 



m 



hh 




Class Tfr 3 5 J1 

Book .®/64?7 

Copyright If 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



POEMS 



BY 



HERBERT MULLER HOPKINS 




BOSTON 

RICHARD G. BADGER 

THE GORHAM PRESS 
I9II 



Copyright 1910 by Pauline Mackie Hopkins 



All Rights Reserved 



Many of these poems originally appeared else- 
where and are used here through the courtesy of The 
Bookman, Harpers Magazine, The Churchman, 
Out West, the Reader and the Outlook. 



The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. 



CCLA280090 



To 
CECIL MACKIE HOPKINS 

This collection of 

his father s poems 

is dedicated by 

his mother 



CONTENTS 

Page 

Song II 

Joy II 

Victory 12 

Epithalamium 12 

To Toledo 15 

Friendship 16 

The Watcher 17 

The Outcast 18 

Cloudland 18 

Watch Therefore , 19 

The Pessimist 20 

Moonlight 21 

A Love Letter 23 

Retrospect 23 

Twilight in San Pablo Valley 24 

Brekekekex Koax Koax 25 

To a Flirt 25 

On the March 27 

By the Brookside 28 

5 



CONTENTS 

Page 

The Dream 29 

Nebulae of Song 30 

The Three Pilgrims 31 

To An American-M.an-of-Wars-M.an 31 

Oft in the Morning 33 

Disillusion 34 

The North Wind in California 34 

The Wild Ducks of Illinois 35 

The Sailor's Return 36 

Sonnets of Buried Nippur 37 

The Battle Line 38 

The Truce 38 

Along the Bay Shore 39 

My Heart Hath Sung of Thee 39 

The Estadea 40 

Love in April 41 

Come Not, Fair Spring 42 

To Columbia University 43 

/ Stood in Dreams Beside the Gate 44 

Metempsychosis 44 

The Prison Builders 45 

6 



CONTENTS 

Page 

Children of the Night 46 

God's Love 46 

Summer Dawn in New York 47 

Senex Morosus 47 

The Cat 48 

To the Late Lingering Moon 49 

The Morning Watch 50 

Bubbles 51 

A Woman's Answer 52 

A Morning Thought 53 

In the Starlight 53 

Enigmatical Jennie 54 

The Years So Few 54 

The Bugle Call 55 

The Virginia Reel 56 

The Rain 56 

A Song to My Beloved 57 

To the Railroad Train 58 

The Cry of the Workers 60 

Coming Home 61 

The Song of Dead Cities 61 

Ambition 62 

7 



CONTENTS 

Page 

My Darling Slept an Endless Sleep 63 

To an Obstructionist 63 

The Thirty-first of May 64 

The Heart's Desire 65 

On Entering a New Home 65 

Teucer 66 

A Roman Revel 67 

Hymn to Minerva 70 

The Message 71 

To Lesbia's Sparrow 72 

Paris Redivivus 73 

Catullus to Lesbia 76 

Song 77 

Lament of the Theban Maidens for Eteocles 

and Polynices 77 

The Smoker s Reverie 79 

Pervigilium Veneris 80 

Hymnus Academicus Matutinus 84 

Leaves 85 

The Great Gray Arch 86 

In Extremis 88 

8 



POEMS 



SONG 

Ah, love was sweeter than the breath of flowers 
Across the sea, from lands beyond our sight; 
And swifter than the footsteps of the hours 
That bear our souls in slumber to the light. 

Ah, love was cruel as the lurking thorn ; 
I plucked the rose, impatient of delay, 
I plucked the rose, and now I stand forlorn, 
The fragrant petals scattered in the way. 

JOY 

To-day did Fortune turn and smite, 

And her lash was the lash of man's despite ; 

Yet when she deemed I would wince and cry, 

I thought of song and knew not why. 

Why does the bird in the darkening wood 

Sing of his faith that life is good, 

His little life of a summer's day, 

Dreaming that joy will live alway? 

Why does the sun return again, 

After the night of wind and rain? 

Why do I sing? 
Come, my harp, for my heart is glad. 
Full too oft have our songs been sad, 
Full too oft when the good sun shone 
I swept your strings to a faithless moan. 
Wake, my harp, to a nobler beat: 

This man suffered and found life sweet. 

Poor he was and of small renown, 

Greeted often by Fortune's frown, 
But he met his Love and she loved him still, 
Till their brief sun vanished behind the hill. 

Just one song to the world repeat — 

This man loved and found life sweet. 



II 



VICTORY 

It is not life's brief tenure that I moan, 
Its many tears, it vanishing delights, 

Nor all the bitterness my heart hath known 
In the grim silences of wakeful nights. 

Nor doth my spirit in the battle quail, 
Dreaming of pleasure and inglorious ease ; 

My arm would answer mighty flail with flail, 
And try results with mortal destinies. 

But this my prayer, and this my one request : 
That when my wrestle with the foe is done, 

It be not said of me, "He did his best," — 
Not that alone, but let them add, "He won. 

EPITHALAMIUM 

Throw the waiting portals wide, 
For she pauses at the door; 
Hear the organ's sudden roar 
Shout a welcome to the bride! 

Shall I say that she is fair, 
As a rose at dawn of day, 
Or a yellow poppy bright 
Luminous against the night? 
[Shall I say that she's the vine, 
He the oak she doth entwine?] 

Nay, a phrase I cannot find, 

In my wonderment of mind! 

Every simile is dumb 

As I see her slowly come 

Down the aisle to where he stands, 

And the roses in her hands 



12 



n 



Seem less innocent and good 
Than her wondrous womanhood. 

And the bridegroom too is fair, 
In his strength and manly grace 
In his quietness of face, 
And the burdens he will bear; 
And I look into the years, 
Knowing he will dry her tears 
In his sunniness of heart, — 
That they, never more will part, 
Till the genial years shall bring 
Comfort of the easy chair, 
Sitting loved and loving there, 
Nodding yes to everything! 

Symbol of eternal love 
Is the ring that he has given, 
Blessings brooding like a dove 
From the open gate of heaven! 

Let the organ louder play, 
As they pass adown the aisle, 
Sing the glad triumphant way, 
Stretching sunny mile on mile! 
Yet I hear a wistful strain 
Follow close upon the glad, 
As a sudden rush of rain 
Turns an autumn morning sad, 
Sweeps across the yellow grain, 
Hides the still ungathered sheaves, 
Covering the sodden plain 
With a robe of ruined leaves. 

Sweeter now the music plays, 
Climbing to its final height, 
Silently your poet prays, 



13 



As you vanish in the night, 
And he hears the horses' feet 
Clatter down the stony street. 

Groom, what happiness is thine, 
In the days that crowd apace, 
In her loveliness and grace, 
Precious, hourly anodyne! 
Often in the flitting night 
You shall hold her to your heart, 
Often in the early light 
You shall gaze with lips apart, 
Gaze, with eyes unsatisfied, 
At the beauty of your bride. 

And beware that you repine 
Any wrong that you have done; 
Still the sifting years refine, 
Every day is life begun. 
Look not back upon the past. 
For she loves you as her King, 
Kingly be the love you bring, 
Till you triumph at the last! 

To you, O Bride, I fain would tell 

The thoughts that come, though bidden not, 

The thought of one who loves you well, 

And stands aside, alone, forgot, 

To muse upon a woman's lot. 

I saw you smile in girlish wise. 
Full many a time, and could not tell, 
So blue and cloudless were your eyes, 
If any thought of pain might dwell 
Within that tranquil citadel. 

Then comes this night, when you are wed, 
As free from sorrow as from guile, 

14 



The marriage-veil is on your head, 
And on your lips a sudden smile 
Makes sunlight down the sombre aisle. 

But life is richer than you know, 

It brings us sorrows strange and deep, 

It may be that you too shall grow 

Like one who has been long asleep, 

And wakes from wistful dreams to weep. 

And when your hair is streaked with snow, 
But more with sorrow than with years, 
May this be why he loves you so, 
Because, in spite of pains and fears, 
He sees you smiling through your tears. 

TO TOLEDO 

Dear city of the shaded streets, beside the saltless 

sea, 
Catullus sang of Sirmio, and I will sing of thee, 
The river front, the ships, the roofs a-shimmer in 

the sun, 
The happy doorstep gossiping when summer days 

are done! 
And then the night, the tropic night, the sudden 

cooling rain, 
The scurry of a thousand feet, the slamming of the 

pane ; 
And when the thunder dies away, above the gleam- 
ing street, 
The maples murmur melodies, the stars are shining 

sweet. 

I love thee in the April dawn, when dew is on the 

ground, 
I love the wakening of life, the carnival of sound, 
The cable-cars and factories, the heaps of ruddy ore, 

15 



The schooners heading for the bay, the long retreat- 
ing shore, 

The autumn winds, the rain of leaves, the winter's 
drifting snow — 

But best of all, the summer nights when voices mur- 
mur low; 

And far beyond the balconies and laughter floating 
faint, 

The frog's eternal orchestra begins the old com- 
plaint. 

Dear city of the shaded streets, beside the saltless 
sea, 

I cannot linger by the door where love began for 
me, 

I can but dream beside the lamp three thousand 
miles away, 

And think I sit again with her at closing of the day. 

Again I hear the cooling rain, the scurrying of feet ; 

The maples murmur melodies, the stars are shin- 
ing sweet. 

FRIENDSHIP 

I have a friend who loves his Greek 
Almost as much as I love him, 

And when he comes to me we speak 
Of epic tales or legends dim, 

Or while a quiet hour away 
In reading the Antigone. 

But when I talk of meaner things, 

Of "mine" and "thine" and of to-day, 

His soul takes flight on viewless wings, 
Back through the ages far away, 

Afar on wistful pinions flies, 
Deep in the blue of Attic skies. 

16 



Dear friend, I will not vex your mind 
With matters of ignoble worth, 

But in your presence strive to find 
The secret of a fairer earth, 

Till I become by slow degrees 
Orestes to your Pylades. 

THE WATCHER 

At his window in the wall, 

Where the mottled moonbeams fall, 
Sits the watcher, all in white, 

Sleepless through the sleeping night, 
While the turning heavens swim, 

And the distant stars are dim, 
And he hears the solemn swell 

Of the ivy-steepled bell. 

Now he sees the creeping mist, 

Paly, powdered amethyst, 
And the firefly's flitting spark, 

Where the shadows cluster dark; 
Through the moonlight, far away, 

Hears the watchdog's mellowed bay, 
And the rumble of a train — 

Then the echoes sleep again. 

With unseeing eyes he sees 

Mist and moon and brooding trees, 
And the drowsy sounds he hears 

Fall unheeded on his ears, 
While he longs in hopeless pain 

For the dreams of youth again, 
And the tolling of the bell 

Deepens sadly to a knell. 



17 



THE OUTCAST 

Poor mottled leaper o'er the wayside stone, 
The clown of reptiles, and a scorn of men! 

I see thee moving in the dusk alone, 
Nor can be sure until I look again, 

So like thou art, in undistinguished grey, 

To the deep dust that wraps the great highway. 

And thou hast lighted in thy clumsy fall 
With patient, blinking gaze upon the west, 

Where now, behind a cloud's fantastic wall, 
The burning summer day has gone to rest, 

And in thy little eyes, peculiar, bright, 
The deep reflection of a lambent light. 

But I who muse upon the darkling road 
Have come to see in every God-made thing, 

From the great ocean to this little toad, 
The lesson and the comfort that they bring, 

And growing tenderer with aging years, 
Am moved by such a sight as this to tears. 

Tears for a loveless thing, wherever found, 
That views the beauty of the world afar, 

Nor ever lifts its head above the ground, 
Or knows the truths of nature as they are. 

And still He marks the sparrow in its fall, 
And still His loving care is over all! 

CLOUDLAND 

Over the hills at the close of day, 

Gazing with listless-seeming eyes, 
Margery watches them sail away, 

The sunset clouds of the western skies. 



18 



Margery sighs with a vague regret, 

As slowly they fade from gold to grey, 

Till night has come, and the sun has set, 
And the clouds have drifted beyond the day. 

What are you dreaming, my little maid? 

For yours are beautiful thoughts, I know. 
What were the words that the wild wind said, 

And where in the dark did the cloud-ships go? 

Come through the window and touch her hair, 

Wind of the vast and starry deep ! 
And tell her not of this old world's care, 

But kiss her softly, and let her sleep. 

WATCH THEREFORE 

In Palestine the moonbeams shine 

Upon the lonely hill 
Where shepherds keep their drowsy sheep, 

And all the land is still. 

But through the night a path of light 

Streams out across the way, 
And servants feast until the east 

Gives warning of the day. 

"Full many a year, in hope and fear, 

A band of slavish men, 
We watch for him with eyes grown dim, 

He will not come again!" 

Far away, at the dawn of day, 

I hear the master come, 
And the rhythmic beat of his horse's feet, 

Nearer and nearer home. 



19 



But no one waits at the castle gates, 

And on the castle floor 
The sunlight creeps, while the porter sleeps 

Till his Lord is at the door. 

THE PESSIMIST 

I would I could feel for my brothers, 
But I dwell in the world all alone, 

And know not the sorrows of others, 
For my heart is as hard as a stone. 

Time was when my life was worth living, 
Time was when the tinsel was gold, 

When my spirit was light with thanksgiving, 
And steept in the legends of old. 

I could weep for the vanished illusion, 
But the fountain is dried at the source, 

And I see but a world of confusion, 
And the march of malevolent force. 

Ah, well, I have reached the last pages, 
Life turns them with fingers grown cold, 

Ere she closes the book for all ages, 
A prey to the dust and the mould. 

We shall lie in the dark without number, 
While the cycles of time crumble on. 

What voice shall awake those that slumber, 
What magical fingers of dawn? 



20 



MOONLIGHT 

'T was Sunday night, the last sweet hymn was sung : 
1 'Father, again to thy dear name we raise — " 

The benediction said, forthwith outrung 
The organ postlude, mighty as the praise 

Of angel hosts upon celestial ways. 

The warlike Gloria of Mozart's Mass 
The organist upbuilds by swift degrees, 

Now soft as falling leaves upon the grass, 
Again in volume like the noisy seas 

That thunder on the rugged Hebrides. 

Now all are gone, and still he softly plays, 
Dreaming upon the keys in poet wise, 

Knowing full well how Margery delays, 
Just where the shadow by the doorway lies, 

With love's deep yearning in her hazel eyes. 

Until at last, within the rafters' height, 
The eerie echoes die upon the gloom; 

The sexton turns the one remaining light, 
The church is silent as a lonely tomb, 

Where sleepers wait their glory or their doom. 

With gentle confidence she takes his arm — 
Of village gossips there is none to see — 

Down the dark road they pass without alarm, 
Softly enwrapped in subtle reverie. 

Until they reach the shelter of a tree, 

It is a drowsy night in early June, 

And faint the breath from unseen blossoms blown 
Lulls every thought, until, as in a swoon, 

All consciousness of time and place has flown, 
They dwell in some far fairyland alone. 



21 



And while they dream, within the distant east 
A dawning glory toward the zenith thrills, 

The red and silent Moon, love's lonely Priest, 
Mounts slowly upward, till his splendour fills 

The sleeping valleys and the brooding hills. 

They hear the rising wind among the trees, 
Like waves that murmur on a distant shore 

Washed by the azure depths of sleepy seas, 
And careless what the future has in store, 

They fain would sail in dreams forevermore. 

It may not be, for now the village bell 

Tolls out the midnight chime with measured beat, 
The solemn echoes break the magic spell, 

The vision vanishes on pinions fleet, 
Sadly their trembling lips at parting meet. 

He leaves her at her door and turns away, 

And still as onward through the night he goes, 

Through every sense he feels her subtle sway, 
Her sweetness like the fragrance of a rose, 

Her kiss that still upon his forehead glows. 

Then to his heart there creeps a sudden chill, 
The moonlight which of late made fairyland, 

Sleeps drear and sinister upon the hill, 

He hears strange voices where the elm trees stand, 

Dim, ghostly whisperers on either hand. 

Pursued by haunting fears he gains the way 
That leads him southward toward the city's light, 

Above, the golden moon has turned to gray, 
Ere he has won at length his window's height, 

And knelt in silence to outwatch the night. 



22 



A LOVE LETTER 

When you are dust, and I am dust, 

And time has passed away, 
What profit that in sudden pride 

You kissed me not to-day? 
When you are dust, and I am dust, 

Our spirits in the wind 
Will wander weary through the world 

For love they cannot find. 

Or if, perchance, in whirl of snow, 

Upon some lonely hill, 
Our frustrate spirits meet and know, 

And shudder, and are still, 
What power to sooth our ceaseless pain, 

What hands or lips or eyes, 
Before, forever torn in twain, 

Our hope forever dies? 

So when I come to you to-night 

I pray that at the door 
I find you standing warm and bright, 

As you have stood before; 
I pray you let me kiss again 

Your hands and lips and eyes. 
For us, the life of love, and then 

The death that never dies! 

RETROSPECT 

'Tis not the burden of my sin 

That binds my soul in dumb distress, 

But that my heart is cold within; 
I would I had sinned more — or less. 

For while to-night I walk alone, 

With flaring torch among the tombs- 

23 



I read the lines the years have strown, 
Above their dark and silent rooms. 

I see the lessons I have learned 

As epitaphs upon the soul, 
The ashes of the fires that burned, 

The shadow of the un-won goal. 

I've learned to put the purpose by, 
In fear of cold and loneliness — 

Too steep the road, the prize too high — 
I've learned to wait and acquiesce. 

Thus for a space I linger yet, 

And watch the slowly dying light: 

A little while I must forget, 

And sleep the sleep of yesternight. 

TWILIGHT IN SAN PABLO VALLEY 

Cold is the sleeping mountain, 

And cold is the setting sun, 
And grey is the road that climbs and climbs, 

Till the distant heights are won. 
I hear a drowsy murmur, 

And the note of a lonely bird, 
And a faint wind sighs in the darkling skies, 

Like the ghost of a whispered word. 

And Fear is in the valley, 

It comes with the creeping night, 
The fear of the Sphinx-like mountains, 

The fear of the keen starlight, 
The fear of a Spirit moving 

In the breeze's monotone, 
The fear of God in the darkness, 

Who speaks with the soul alone. 



24 



BREKEKEKEX KOAX KOAX 

The moon is low in the sky, 

And the wind is low in the trees, 
And the frogs are trilling high 

Their marshy melodies ; 
And I think of another night, 

So many years ago, 
When the moon was shining bright, 

And the wind was blowing low. 

I stood by the dreary pool, 

At the end of the silent street, 
And the grass was soft and cool 

To my bare, unfettered feet; 
I heard the marsh-song trill, 

And my waiting soul was dumb, 
As up the misty hill 

I saw the Marsh King come. 

TO A FLIRT 

'Twas just a glance when first we met, 

Our insincerity began; 
To play at loving, and forget, 

Was then our plan. 

We'd often played the game before, 
The game To Love and then Forget, 

Perhaps we thought, " 'Tis one fool more 
Within the net." 

And we were artists in our way, 

We knew the moves and made the signs 

Without the hurry or delay 
Of other times; 



25 



Without the tears, with hearts unfired 
By fierce delight or jealous pain; 

We both loved love, but were too tired 
To love again. 

So by the shore, or at the play, 
Or when the sun was in the west, 

We knew the proper thing to say, 
And stood the test. 

To-night, upon the moonlit hill, 

I held you softly in my arm, 
And there you lay, demure and still, 

Nor thought of harm, 

And there I smoothed your hair away, 

And while you watched the stars above 

I kissed you, and forgot to play, 
And spoke of love. 

But you were wise enough for two, 
And laughed that I should lose so soon, 

You found a kindly thing to do, 
And blamed the Moon. 

'Twas more than folly, less than sin, 

And I've forgotten to forget; 
I will not be what I have been, 

Since first we met! 

So when I come to you again, 

I pray that you will be less wise, 

And let me read an answer plain, 
Within your eyes. 

If I be more to you to-night 

Than when, at first, I played a part, 

26 



I'll know the message, mirrored bright, 
Of heart to heart. 

Or if you will that I be less 
Than I have been to you before, 

You need not speak, for I can guess, 
And come no more. 

ON THE MARCH 

Down the canon of the street, 

Hear the muffled marching feet! 
Hear the thousand-throated hum, 

As the soldiers nearer come! 
Eagerly the people crowd : 

Faintly now, and now more loud, 
While we listen, breathless, dumb, 

Comes the droning of the drum: 
Rika-tek, rika-tek, rika-tek tek tek, 
Rika-tek, rika-tek, rika-tek tek tek, 

Rika-tek tek tek 

Rika-tek tek tek 
Rika-tek, rika-tek, rika-tek tek tek, 

Marching down the western light, 

Bursts the column on our sight! 
Through the myriad golden motes, 

Splendidly our banner floats! 
Then the sudden-swelling cheer, 

Voicing all we hold most dear, 
Wondrous, welling wave of sound, 

Till the whirring drum is drownd ! 
Still our pulses beat in time 

To the rhythmic roll sublime: 
Rika-tek, rika-tek, rika-tek tek tek, 
Rika-tek, rika-tek, rika-tek tek tek, 

Rika-tek tek tek 

Rika-tek tek tek 
Rika-tek, rika-tek, rika-tek tek tek, 
27 



Now the marching men have passed, 

We have watched them to the last, 
Till the column disappears, 

In a mist of sudden tears. 
Loves and hates before unguessed 

Tremble in the troubled breast, 
Loves and hates and hopes and fears, 

Waking from the sleep of years, 
At our country's calling come, 

To the rolling of the drum : 
Rika-tek, rika-tek, rika-tek tek tek, 
Rika-tek, rika-tek, rika-tek tek tek, 

Rika-tek tek tek 

Rika-tek tek tek 
Rika-tek, rika-tek, rika-tek tek tek, 

So the night comes on apace, 

Settles on each solemn face, 
While we pray with hearts of fire, 

While a wistful, wild desire 
Follows where the dangers are, 

Where the battles blaze afar, 
Till our heroes homeward come, 

And we hear the victor drum: 
Rika-tek, rika-tek, rika-tek tek tek, 
Rika-tek, rika-tek, rika-tek tek tek, 

Rika-tek tek tek 

Rika-tek tek tek 
Rika-tek, rika-tek, rika-tek tek tek, 

BY THE BROOK SIDE 

Were I a midget manikin, 

A-floating down the stream, 
Upon a little piece of bark, 

How dreadful it would seem ! 
This babbling brook would be to me 

The swirling of a mighty sea, 

28 



If I should be so small and thin, 
A fairy midget manikin. 

Although my years are twenty-three, 

And I so wise have grown, 
Such fancies often visit me, 

When by the brook alone: 
The hamadryads haunt the trees, 

And Pan comes dancing down the breeze, 
Again I am, as I have been, 

A fairy midget manikin. 

THE DREAM 

Deep in the autumn night my Love awoke, 
Put out her hand to know if I were near; 

I waited in the silence till she spoke, 
Her voice to me how dear! 

"I hear the children singing in the night, 
And down the aisle I see the censer swing, 

I see a great procession, all in white, 
And hear the church bells ring." 

"The children long ago have gone to sleep, 

You only hear the breeze's low refrain, 
You only see the milky moonlight creep 
Across the window-pane." 

She smiled, and nestled close against my breast, 
And while I wondered such sweet dreams could 
be, 

The mellow autumn moon had gone to rest 
Beyond the western sea. 



29 



NEBULAE OF SONG 

Dim nebulae of song! 
First, a cold star-dust in the spirit's void, 

Whirling with measured sweep the shadows 
through, 
Then more compact, centripetal, and strong, 
Swifter and surer and of warmer hue! 

Thy brothers wait thee in the blue above, 
Far through the silences their songs descend ; 

Thou too shalt join their ancient choir of love, 
And send thy light across the paths of men. 

Now the faint music of the early dawn, 

Feeling its way with broken chords and slow, 

Then the C Major, resolute and strong, 

Moving in conscious strength the measures go. 

But thou, dim dust, that trailest through the night, 
Breasting the waves of that unsounded sea, 

Swift be the course of the triumphant flight, 
And sweet thy music in the years to be! 

THE THREE PILGRIMS 

"What good thing has life given each, 

Now at our journey's end? 
To me, the goal of fame to reach, 

And one to call me friend." 

"To me, the knowledge of the past 

Has given of precious store, 
And I have come to know at last 

The great who are no more." 



30 



"But I have heard, when bowed my head 

By bitter pain and loss, 
The words of comfort He has said, 

Who died upon the cross." 

TO AN AMERICAN-MAN-OF-WAR'S-MAN 

You, in the climbing San Francisco street, 
With sun-burned cheek, and easy, open blouse, 

Showing a glimpse of broad and burnished breast, 
Supple in movement and of rolling gait, 

A living lyric of Manila Bay! 

I note the willowy, athletic build, 

The tangled hair that peeps beneath your cap, 
The free, bold glance, like any truant boy 

Escaped the humdrum of the school to-day, 
To wander with his mates about the town. 

Out in the Bay your ship at anchor lies, 
Straining her cables in the swelling tides, 

The guns all canvassed, and the decks swept clean, 
And some few left on guard ; while you, ashore, 

Live the great day that you have dreamed of long, 
For weary months, beneath unfriendly stars. 

And now, how free from any thought of fame, 
Or that black tragedy which waits on war! 

I see you roving through the roaring streets, 
Spending your money with a drunken grace, 

Simple and brave, heroic, weak, and free! 

The mystery of the sailor's life is yours, 
The same sweet mystery that in days of old 

Haunted the Spaniards in their daring ways, 
In search of El Dorado and its gold, 

In search of that bright spring of living youth 
That flashed far off beyond the beckoning foam. 

31 



But we, grown practical in these cold days, 
Study the strange old tales in learned books. 

You tell the story in your open face, 
The tale of cities far in desert wastes, 

The tale of ghosts upon the windy deck, 
St. Elmo's fire, and terrors of the deep. 

And now, farewell, brave sailor of the seas ! 

I to my duties turn with lagging step; 
You, free and fearless as in early days, 

Roam the great deep and win our country's fights, 
The rich, romantic life of love and war. 

Yet often, in the dust of crowded streets, 

I once again shall see you roll along, 
With open hand, and open heart, and song; 
And lifting weary eyes to that pure sky, 

So blue and cool above the city's walls, 
My soul shall know the same unfettered joy 

That thrilled me once upon a summer day, 
When first I saw the ocean stretch away 

To meet the sky, and all the world was young. 

Then, like Magellan on his lonely deck, 

Watching the steady stars with poet's eyes, 
I too shall hear the swashing of the waves 

Against the foaming bow that cuts the night; 
And day by day shall see the horizon edge 

With nought to break its everlasting line, 
The perfect circle of the watery world, 

Till, like a vision, on some quiet morn, 
The roofs of China dream against the sky! 



32 



OFT IN THE MORNING 

Oft in the morning when I sit me down 

With learned book, and mean to labour well, 
When from the coolness of my early bath 

My body is a temple of repose, 
And when my pipe is fragrance and delight, 

There comes upon a sudden to my mind 
A thought of that great world beyond my room, 

The open road, the sun and blowing wind, 
The music and the mystery of life. 

The book becomes a husk of empty words, 
For I have heard the wagons in the street, 

The venders' cries, melodious and strong, 
The crowing of the cocks in distant barns, 

The shouting of the children at their play; 
And grandly then a picture of the world 
Comes floating in upon my waiting soul. 

I know the bay spreads tranquilly afar, 
To meet the purple slopes of Tamalpais, 

I see the Berkeley houses dot the hills, 

White as a group of spotted dice outthrown 

From some great hand that left them there in play; 
And many whirring windmills fleck the sky, 

And blur the blue and hum a droning song. 

So, when I feel the breeze upon my breast, 

And drink delight with every sparkling breath, 
Ah, what to me are Grecians, Romans, bards, 

All peoples that have tasted joy and died? 
The passion of mere living now is mine, 

As if I looked the first upon the light, 
As if I had been born this very day, 

Nor ever had seen anything before, 
Or heard the music of the morning wind; 

So wonderfully fresh the feel of life, 
So beautiful the world that is my home! 

33 



DISILLUSION 

I read in some quaint wonder-book 

The legend of a miser grim, 
Who by the means called "hook or crook" 

Did fleece the folk that trusted him. 

But when the miser came to die, 

And when his heirs would count the gold, 
A heap of withered leaves and dry 

Is all that his great coffers hold. 

So when I turn me to my book, 
To count the treasures of my mind, 

Some witch's wand has changed their look, 
And withered leaves is all I find. 

THE NORTH WIND IN CALIFORNIA 

Now, to the wonder of the waiting night, 

The arid North comes stealing o'er the hills, 
First in slow puffs, and then the whole house thrills 

With steady blows of that mysterious might. 
How strange to hear, beneath the hot starlight, 

The same wild note that comes with driven snows 
Against New England panes, where warmly glows 

The dark green holly and its berries bright! 
And what the meaning of the wild refrain, 

And what the message that the North Wind 
brings? 
It sings of cactus on a desert plain, 

Of bones that bleach beside the sand-choked 
springs, 
Of strange, red mountains, unrefreshed by rain, 

A land of gruesome and forgotten things. 



34 



THE WILD DUCKS OF ILLINOIS 

swift wild ducks that northward flew 
Across the skies of Illinois, 

When April came, and life was new 
With sweet, unconscious joys, 

How wistfully, these later days, 
Among the haunts of alien men, 

1 search in vain the trackless ways, 
To find your trail again! 

For often, in that little town, 

When all the world was wet with dew, 
A faint, wild cry came dropping down, 

From out the liquid blue, 

And looking from the open door, 

I watched you wing your steady flight, 

Till your long lines were seen no more, 
Within the dizzy height. 

Then all the golden summer days 

My truant thoughts would northward roam, 
And wait the autumn's purple haze, 

And you, returning home, 

Your tireless columns backward spread, 
To pierce the waves of day and night, 

Your leader straining on ahead, 
In his unerring flight. 

And when the night was still and dark, 

I saw you blot the starlit sky, 
And paused upon the road to mark 

Your sweet, discordant cry, 



35 



As one who stands upon the shore, 

And sends his heart with ships that sail 

Across the seas, to come no more 
Upon the homeward trail. 

THE SAILOR'S RETURN 

The boats are turning up the silent river, 

And there are tender meetings on the shore, 
But I shall see her by the willow never, 
Nevermore. 

winds that waft me to the dim Hereafter, 
Still sing your siren songs as oft before, 

And through the starlight bring the low, sweet 
laughter 

From the shore. 

And though no more for me at my returning 

Will shine those eyes with mystic light divine, 
Though I shall never feel her dear hand burning, 
Claspt in mine, 

Let no man dream I think not for my brothers, 
For since I am bereaved by His great will, 

1 feel the joys and sorrows of the others 

Deeper still. 

And when from my last voyage unreturning, 

My bark is borne upon the rolling surge, 
Beyond the stars in tender pity yearning 
At the verge, 

Though now grown old with years of weary rang- 
ing, 
Through scudding tempests and the breakers' 
roar, 
I know she waits me with a love unchanging, 
On the shore. 

36 



SONNETS OF BURIED NIPPUR 

The Man 

Reeling away beneath the brazen skies, 

The giant tempest, black with stinging sands 
Pauses and breaks and falls with whirling hands 

Upon the mound where buried Nipper lies. 
There the long sleep; above, the lidless eyes 

Of stars cold-gazing on the race of man: 
There, where the drama of the world began, 

The lights are out and all the music dies. 
Four thousand years before the sons of Greece 

Pillared the hills beyond the azure sea, 
Lugalzaggisi forced his fearful peace 

Upon a world that cowered at his knee, 
Lugalzaggisi, first in power and fame — 

The patient scholars have unearthed his name. 

The God 

When Turgu reigned, and Abraham was dead 

A thousand years, the revellers in a hall 
Above the buried Nippur heard a fall 

Of masonry, and their loud laughter fled. 
With flaring torch the trembling menials led 

A wondering way adown a broken stair, 
Beat back the darkness of the stagnant air, 

Where Sargon slept upon his crumbling bed. 
And far below, within a deeper gloom, 

They came upon the great god Bel alone, 
Ruling sole sovereign in a little room, 

Whom once the World had scarce sufficed to 
throne. 
Silent they stood within the echoing tomb, 

Frozen before those sightless eyes of stone. 



37 



ALONG THE BAY SHORE 

The broad yellow waters stretch dimmer and dim- 
mer 
From the shore with its long-fringed mantle o{ 
green, 
And I watch the strong form of the forthgoing 
swimmer, 
The sea and the sky and the lighthouse between. 

I see his white body sink lower and lower, 
Till only his shoulders reflect the red sun, 

His tentative steps ever slower and slower 

Through westering breezes that ripple and run. 

I see a great ship to the harbor returning, 
A streperous tug with a bone in its mouth, 

And crossing a cloud iridescent and burning, 
The wild duck awing for his home in the south. 

MY HEART HATH SUNG OF THEE 

My heart hath sung of thee, 
All the soft hours of the slumbrous day, 
As through the arch of tree and tree, 
'Mid Springtime's wooing volubility, 
One fuller, more insistent note, 
From unseen, love-pained throat, 
Comes down the leafy way. 

Here, hour by heedless hour, 
Upon the moss-stained fence I lean, 
And wonder at the sudden shower 
Of blossoms on the rippling green, 
And watch the hand of God unfold 
The poppy and the marigold. 



38 



The rose is lovely, and the fleur de lis, 
And apple blossoms dear to thee and me; 
But now I choose those richer-coloured flowers, 
Lifting gold faces to the golden hours. 
My fancy is robust as they: one sweet, warm kiss 
Befits a day like this! 

THE BATTLE-LINE 

Lonely I lie upon the sodden sands, 
Stunned by the steady, cannonading roar 
Of rushing ranks that reach along the shore 
The ghostly menace of despairing hands. 
What grim resolves, whose merciless commands, 
Still drive you on in unimagined might, 
Through countless centuries of day and night, 
To pour your battle on the stubborn lands? 
Far, far away, the careless hosts of men, 
In lonely house or many-streeted town, 
Sleep in their simple faith secure, nor ken 
On what another sight the moon looks down. 
But here I see the maddened foes entwine 
Along the world's unending battle-line. 

THE TRUCE 

High noon, and peace, and wide-flung window pane 
Framing a square of land and sea and sky; 
Somewhere, a meadow-lark's ecstatic cry 
Piercing the stillness with its thin refrain. 
The sparse, pale grasses ripple toward the main, 
The winding sands a yellow pathway gleam, 
Beyond, the ocean's fleck'd and flashing stream, 
And then the blue, unmarred by cloud or stain! 
Last night I lay as facing furious foes 
That swept the ramparts with a savage roar, 
And dreamed of final cataclysmic woes, 
The world o'erwhelmed beyond the beaten shore. 
And can this peaceful, sparkling river be 
That mighty, menacing, remorseless sea? 

39 



THE ESTADEA* 

A white mist rose from out the sea, 
The sullen sun sank all too soon, 

The level moor stretched endlessly 
Beneath the rising moon. 

Three watchers stood as shadows stand, 
When no wind moves across the sky, 

They saw the mists on either hand 
Come stealing softly by. 

Like Stardust drifting overhead, 

They saw a thousand dancing lights, 

The candles of the ancient dead 
Who walk in autumn nights. 

From George Borrow's "The Bible in Spain," pp. 
422-3. Guide: 

"What do I mean by the Estadeaf My master 
asks me what I mean by the Estadinha* I have 
met the Estadinha but once, and it was upon a 
moor something like this. I was in company with 
several women, and a thick haze came on, and sud- 
denly a thousand lights shone above our heads in 
the haze, and there was a wild cry, and the women 
fell to the ground screaming, ' Estadeaf Estadeaf 
And I myself fell to the ground crying out, Esta- 
dinha!* The Estadea are the spirits of the dead 
which ride upon the haze, bearing candles in their 
hands. I tell you frankly, my master, that if we 
meet the assembly of the souls, 1 shall leave you 
at once, and then I shall run and run till I drown 
myself in the sea, somewhere about Muros." 



*Estadinha — diminutive. — Note by Editor. 

40 



Ah, woe to those that chance to meet 

The Estadea passing by, 
Who wander with unburied feet 

Between the earth and sky! 

Ah, woe to those that chance to stray 
At night upon the lonely shore, 

For never do they see the day, 
And they are seen no more. 

The white mist passed from out the sea, 
Across the moor and up the hill, 

The risen moon shone drearily, 
And all the land was still. 

LOVE IN APRIL 

We met at dawn of day, 
In an April long ago, 
When the lilac bush was gay, 
And the apple boughs were snow, 
And Love, in April's guise, 
Lured us on with April's wile, 
For her rain was in your eyes, 
And her sunlight in your smile. 

We parted long ago, 

In an agony of pride, 

When the world was white with snow — 

Ah, the bitter world was wide! 

Till I sent a little song, 

Like a dove across the sea, 

And the silent days were long, 

But it came again to me. 

O sweet and far away, 
Whom I have loved so well, 
My heart is glad to day, 

41 



With a joy it cannot tell, 
For your love has come at last, 
With the ships across the sea, 
And the Aprils of the past 
Are the life that is to be. 

COME NOT, FAIR SPRING! 

Come not, fair Spring, come not as yet 

To drive the snows away, 

And bid my truant heart forget 

The vows of yesterday; 

For much I fear your winning eyes, 

Your fragrant hair afloat, 

The witchery of your surprise, 

The languor of your throat. 

I've walked with Winter, many days, 

And braved his boisterous moods, 

And learned to love his epic lays, 

His shrilling interludes; 

And will you come to bid me rest, 

Before my strength is spent, 

To love your laughing lyrics best, 

Inglorious and content? 

The last white flake is but a tear 

Upon the window pane, 

I fling the casement wide and hear 

The unfamiliar rain, 

The river rushing to the sea, 

The blackbird screaming high, 

A whisper in the apple tree, 

And know that you are nigh. 

Oh come fair Spring, oh come at last, 
And drive the snows away! 
Too long I've battled with the blast, 
And I would rest to-day; 
42 



I hear your step upon the hill, 
Your laughter in the rain, 
And can my heart be recreant still, 
When you have come again? 

TO COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY 

Columbia, our mother fair, 

Above the city's smoke and roar, 

I thrill to see thee standing there, 
Upon thy hills forevermore! 

Presiding Spirit of our youth, 

Within thy temple's pillar'd height 

Thy sons shall learn the way of truth, 
And burn to battle for the right. 

Not such as once in Samothrace, 

The sculptor wrought of gleaming stone, 
The Nikee of a warlike race, 

With garments by the tempest blown ; 

A wiser Victory be thou ! 

A Victory in civic strife, 
To smite Corruption down, nor bow 

Before the stress of modern life. 

And standing there, serene and pure, 
Where countless homes thy vision greet, 

While that great, troubled life endure, 
And surge about thy steadfast feet, 

Thou still shalt point the wiser way, 
Thou still shalt turn from little things, 

Thine eyes upon the coming day, 
Its light upon thy lifted wings! 



43 



I STOOD IN DREAMS BESIDE THE GATE 

I stood in dreams beside the gate, 

Where'er that gate may be, 

Where souls released from earth's estate 

Pass on eternally 
From out this whirl of strife and hate, 

On death's untroubled sea. 

From battle-field, and flood, and fire, 
And lingering beds of pain, 
Purged of importunate desire, 
And white without a stain, 
I saw them pass, an endless choir, 
Hymning a glad refrain. 

The aged man, his youth renewed, 

The child with wondering eyes, 

The youth with flaming hopes endued, 

Seeking a high emprise, 

Winging in happy certitude 

The pathway of the skies. 

METEMPSYCHOSIS 

So many lives unlived, 
And half this brief course run, 
So many joys untasted, 
So many deeds undone, 
So little time for living, 
Snatched from the toil of life, 
And for the heart's outgiving, 
Shut from the noise and strife! 

Only to live on earth, 
When this dear life is done, 
To view again, a mortal, 
The great, immortal sun, 

44 



Ever to earth returning, 
Like day that follows day, 
With clearer eyes discerning 
The Poet and his Play! 

THE PRISON BUILDERS 

In youth we rear with walls of fire 
The mansion of our heart's desire, 
The towers are all of moonlight made, 
Rising above the darker shade; 
And through the open windows see 
The world — a wondrous pageantry! 

Each year we build the house again, 
More like the homes of other men, 
Strengthen the frame with bolt and beam, 
And learn to scorn the early dream, 
Grow wise at last, and shut the door, 
And think of former loves no more. 

And after many years are flown, 
And we are grey in service grown, 
The earlier vision lures in vain ; 
We only see an endless train 
Of petty duties passing by, 
Throwing their dust against the sky. 

O Thou who dids't from day to day 
Travel with men the common way, 
'Tis not by sin we lose Thy path, 
But by life's daily toil and scath, 
And wearily we build the bars 
That hide thine immemorial stars. 



45 



CHILDREN OF THE NIGHT 

Sweet children of the far, forgotten spaces, 
Dear children of my fancy long since dead, 
Who rise again with wan, reproachful faces, 
Tonight, about my bed, 

When sin is slain and folly is forgiven, 
And eyes are dry that once with tears were wet, 
Why do you come to one in mercy shriven, 
Bringing an old regret? 

I knew not that our hearts were cleft asunder 
Till suddenly a silence seemed to fall, 
And Music, with her passion and her wonder, 
Had passed beyond recall. 

Sweet children of the far, forgotten spaces, 
Dear children of the years I thought so dead, 
Linger awhile with bright, immortal faces, 
Tonight, about my bed. 

GOD'S LOVE 

I stood among the hills before the day, 
And listened to the silence all about, 

The shadows hovered on my upward way, 
Within my heart the shadow of a doubt. 

But suddenly a tender, azure light 

Came moving like a spirit on the hills, 

And backward fled the phantoms of the night, 
Strange unrealities of human ills. 

"Dear God," I whispered, as I felt the glow 
Bathe eyes and forehead in a warm embrace, 

"Thus in the after-life my soul will know 
The loving splendour of my Father's face. 

46 



And still, despite the sins of other years, 

Though yet in alien paths my feet many roam, 

Clear-shining through the mist of human tears, 
Thy love's sweet radiance will guide me home." 

SUMMER DAWN IN NEW YORK 

When morning from the crimson eastern skies 

Spreads warmly o'er the city's stony waste, 
Swifter than thought, in silent, burning haste, 

Above the roof whereon my pillow lies, 
I start from sleep, and with half-dreaming eyes 

See the tall chimneys in the glow embraced, 
See the red smoke, like sunset clouds enlaced 

In wavering masses, ere their beauty dies. 
And far above, the gulls in circling flight 

Float in the depths of the eternal blue, 
Their wings all tipt with golden spears of light, 

Of evanescent, ever-changing hue. 
It is a prayer to gaze on such a sight, 

A soul's thanksgiving, tender, deep, and true. 

SENEX MOROSUS 

Now the Century is old, 

And bewildered are his looks, 
And his shaking hands are cold, 

As he fumbles o'er his books. 
Where they lie in dust and mould, 

In their half-forgotten nooks. 

Looking from his window's height, 
Comes no tremor from the east, 

Comes no finger-tip of light, 

Where the foam is white as yeast, 

Writing letters burning bright, 
Like the Writing at the Feast ? 



47 



What renewing shall he find, 
Now his flaming words are said ? 

For the fancies of his mind, 

Like the autumn leaves, are dead, 

And they flutter in the wind, 
'Round the old forsaken head. 

1889 

THE CAT 

My step is swift and silent, 

Like that of the wind-blown dead, 
I sit and dream in the firelight's gleam, 

While the night-winds cry o'er head ; 
I have strange powers of vision, 

My mystic eyes shine deep, 
And my droning purr is like the whirr 

Of wings that pass in sleep. 

My master sits and studies, 

Till his weary lamp burns dim, 
And he starts in affright in the weird half-light 

To feel my eyes on him ; 
He thrills to see me creeping 

Across the gusty floor, 
When I see the ghost of the friend he lost 

Peering behind the door. 

The night is growing older, 

At last he has gone to bed, 
But the wind is loud, and phantoms crowd 

About his wakeful head ; 
And when the Moon is dying, 

He dimly sees me stand, 
So gaunt and still, on the window-sill, 

And my shadow on his hand. 



48 



I know the elves of darkness, 

I'm the spirit of unrest, 
A secret I keep, so strange and deep, 

Within my burning breast; 
I tell my tale to the grasses 

That winter beside the stream, 
And palsied with fright they hiss to the night, 

Like a snake in a troubled dream. 

And then in my desolation, 

I raise a mournful wail, 
The house dog quakes, my master awakes, 

His cheek is cold and pale; 
But none can guess my story, 

Nor the fate that follows me, 
Until I atone for the dark deed done, 

And my soul at last is free. 

TO THE LATE-LINGERING MOON 

Thou poor pale ghost of midnight's mellow Moon, 

That peerest o'er the mountain's rounded rim, 
How comfortless thy countenance and dim, 

Against the chilly sky of winter noon! 
Last night I heard the heavens all atune 

With music such as Plato heard of old, 
What time his daring fancy strove to hold 

Its secret, while the morning came too soon. 
But now the music and the mirth are dumb, 

Thy starry guests are gone upon their way, 
The board is bare, the morning light has come, 

And staring dreamily upon the day, 
Alone and motionless I see thee stand, 

The golden goblet fallen from thy hand. 



49 



THE MORNING WATCH 

Be resolute, my soul, 
And battle till the day, 
My strength is manifold, 
If only thou be gay; 
Since friendship takes its flight, 
Since love is far outgrown, 
Here, in the silent night, 
I watch alone. 

And sing a song, my soul, 
A bitter song and bright, 
While fleeting hours unroll 
The enigmatic night; 
The pessimist must sing — 
Ah, happy those who weep! 
So laugh till death shall bring 
Unending sleep. 

'Tis good to see the sun, 
'Tis good to feel the air 
In vibrant billows run — 

And beauty everywhere! 
'Tis good to greet the storm 
That beats upon my face, 
And still the dawn is warm 
With tender grace. 

So let me lie at peace 
On Nature's kindly breast, 
Since human love must cease, 
And life is all unblest, 
And watch the stars outspread 
Within the brimming blue — 
But Abraham now is dead, 
Who saw them too 

50 



And millions, ages hence, 
Shall watch the steady stars, 
And question why and whence, 
Behind their prison bars; 
But if no love shall give 
A light upon the way, 
How can they dare to live 
Until the day? 

Be still, my soul divine, 
No heed the heart that cries! 
I know that love is mine, 
The love that never dies; 
The bitterness is gone, 
Be happy now, and weep, 
See, yonder comes the dawn, 
And I can sleep. 

BUBBLES 

As a little child at play 
Blows upon a pipe of clay 
Bubbles, evanescent, bright, 
With their iridescent light, 
So I fling upon the wind 
Verses of the bubble kind. 

And my friend with eyes of blue 
Looks my fragile verses through, 
Pausing from his books awhile, 
With an intellectual smile; 
For my fancy seems as nought 
To this man of deeper thought. 

Still I plead as my excuse: 
"Even bubbles have their use. 
They are prefect while they live, 
And their short career may give. 

51 



As they shimmer and are flown, 
Some suggestion for our own. 

Let their beauty, pure and glad, 
Make another soul less sad, 
And, as upward they are whirl'd, 
Let them show their little world 
Floating clouds and perfect sky, 
Warmly mirrored, ere they die." 

A WOMAN'S ANSWER 

Dear Love, the years have come and gone, 
The dreams of youth have passed away, 
And each tomorrow finds undone 
The task of yesterday. 

The songs that I had hoped to sing 
Have died within my longing heart, 
The honours I had thought to win 
All silently depart. 

For each succeeding day has shown 
The nearer duty to be done, 
Has put the greater deed aside 
And left the heights unwon. 

Till I have come to see at last, 
That life itself might be a song 
And that by little deeds is won 
The battle of the strong. 

And thou hast given year by year 
Such gifts as only women give. 
And that unfevered view of life 
That makes life sweet to live. 



52 



The daily service meetly done 
Has shown the wiser way to me, 
And all I am is thine alone 
What have I given thee? 

But dear Love crept into my arms 
And put her cheek against my cheek 
"And is not love enough?" she said, 
"For love is all I seek." 

A MORNING THOUGHT 

The quiet streets in sunlight blue 
With early mists still rolling through, 
Seem, as I watch them dreamily, 
A city far below the sea, 
And overheard, long fathoms high, 
The white cloud-ships go sailing by. 

The great cloud-ships, they sail away 
On waves of ever-lasting day, 
Often I hear their happy crew 
Singing of things that once I knew, 
And echoes of their song I find. 
In whispers of the morning wind. 

IN THE STARLIGHT 

We are but little children in the night. 
Beneath the great cathedral-dome of heaven, 
And looking up our solemn faces light 
With silent awe by kindly angels given; 
We are but little children, standing where 
We see the mighty ages passing on, 
And find a hope and quiet courage there 
That strengthen us until life's night is gone. 



53 



ENIGMATICAL JENNIE 

Quaint little Jennie, delighting to tease, 
Sits while I read to her under the trees 
Her mischievous eyes solely bent on the book 
With a prim and demure intellectual look, 
But when I attempt to imprison her hand 
Quaint little Jennie does not understand! 

When I say she is "distant'' she tries to look grave 
Pray, how in the world would I have her behave? 
Then I artfully seek to make matters more clear 
By showing that "distant" means "not very near" 
My sage definition in vain I extend, 
For dear little Jennie does not comprehend! 

When she plays the piano with exquisite art 

Revealing the wealth of her womanly heart, 

I muse in my soul if she ever can know 

Why a nocturne of Chopin should sadden me so 

'Tis the little musician, I long to explain 

Who's the cause of my vague, indefinable pain. 

Then she gives me a pansy, ere homeward I go, 
In my buttonhole daintily fastened, just so; 
But what says her heart when I tell her the thought 
Which the magical touch of her fingers has wrought? 
Should I question a sphinx it would answer as well, 
For wise little Jennie refuses to tell! 

THE YEARS SO FEW 

The years so few, so very few 
Since thou hast come to me, 
And still too few, though they extend 
Through all eternity, 



54 



The days so short, so very short, 
That once had been so long, 
With here and there a sorrow shared 
And here and there a song. 

The little things of every day 
So little and so great, 
With which, upon our pilgrimage, 
We weave the web of fate, 

All this I fain would sing: but thou 
With understanding heart 
Dost sing a far more perfect song 
By being what thou art. 

THE BUGLE CALL 

I, from the bed where I had slept 

With vagrant dreams the long night through 

Arose, and to the window crept, 

What time the bugle blew. 

There in the hollow vault of dawn, 
Across the still November frost, 
I saw a phantom army drawn, 
And shadow banners tossed. 

The racking drum, the bugle's blare, 
Grew faint beyond the listening wood, 
A spirit climbed the narrow stair 
And touched me where I stood. 

"What dost thou here? Though drum nor fife 
May lift thy soul to meet the fray, 
Thou too go forth; the sword of life 
Is in thy hand to-day!" 



55 



THE VIRGINIA REEL 

I saw her standing in the dance, 
Waiting our turn to start, 

Watching with reminiscent glance 
The half-forgotten art. 

Fairest of all she seemed to me, 

Sweet as a yellow rose, 
Deep in whose heart the culprit bee 

Seeketh a night's repose. 

And scarcely could I dare to say 
This maiden was my wife: 

So love reneweth day by day 
The rich romance of life. 

THE RAIN 

In the night so dark and dreamless 
Dreamless and dark and still, 

There comes a gracious presence, 
Stepping across the hill, 

Stepping across the city, 

Over the waiting lawn, 
Journeying on and onward 

From darkness into dawn 

Lo, in the April morning 

I look from my window's height, 
And I see her fast retreating, 

Lost in the halls of light ; 

Just a ghost on the hillside, 
The smoke of her dusky hair, 

The wealth of a million jewels 
Shimmering through the air. 

56 



Hail to our gracious Lady! 

Her kindly work is done 
And the whole round world is laughing 

Under the rising sun! 

A SONG TO MY BELOVED 

Sing me a song of my Love today, 

Heart of my heart, singing alone, 

Here in the liquid light of May, 

Where the roses' odours are softly blown : 

The shadows ripple along the grass 

And out from the mumurous, moving leaves 

I watch the flashing sparrows pass 

To their noisy haunts in the ivied eaves. 

Sing of her eyes that are velvet brown, 
And the hand that nestles within my own, 
Sing of her dark hair straying down, 
And her gentle arms about me thrown ; 
Sing of the tears of a deep surprise 
And thoughts too sweet for the minds of men, 
For the new life lives and the old life dies, 
And Love comes into his own again. 

Sing me a song of perfect rest, 
After the weary, waiting days 
When her dear head slumbers upon my breast, 
(Oh, the ways of a woman are wondrous ways !) 
At her sweet lips' pressure upon my own 
My pulses pause and my senses swim 
As when, in the twilight church alone, 
My heart is hushed by the vesper hymn. 

Sing me a song of my Love today, 
Heart of my heart, singing alone, 
While morning brightens upon the Bay, 
And the roses' odours are softly blown; 

57 



Sing of the light of love's surprise, 
That shines but once in the hearts of men, 
When the new life lives and the old life dies, 
And Love comes into his own again. 

TO THE RAILROAD TRAIN 

I saw thee first, I do not know 
How many, many years ago, 
But in a dream I seem to stand, 
Holding my father's steady hand, 
And watch the mighty railroad train, 
With swinging bell and clank of chain, 
Speed onward where I long to go, 
To see the world that glimmers grand, 
Beyond the gates of Wonderland. 

And through the thieving years have come, 
And stolen from my store of dreams, 
The wonder is not wholly gone, 
Whene'er thy ruddy headlight gleams, 
Or, when adown the narrowing track, 
I hear thy voice, and looking back, 
I see a speck that grows and grows, 
Until the lessening distance shows 
The throbbing wheels, the hurrying train, 
Like some mad demon of the brain. 

And when, before the dawn of day, 
I pause upon my homeward way, 
And hear the breezes sigh and pass, 
The crickets pulsing in the grass — 
The long night's murm'rous quietness — 
There comes, afar, a droning sound, 
A tremor springs along the ground, 
The droning wakens to a roar, 

Till round the curve, 

With sway and swerve, 

58 



With headlight blazing on before, 
Sweeps grandly down the night express! 
The solid pavement quakes and reels, 
Beneath the great convulsive wheels, 
A whirlwind follows down the track 
With showers of stone — then all is black. 
Afar, across the pasture bars, 
I hear the watchdog's mellowed bay, 
I note the paling eastern stars, 
Just a faint hint of coming day, 
I hear the breezes sigh and pass, 
And crickets pulsing in the grass. 

Now, in the wintry afternoon, 

Enveloped in the whirling drifts, 

With trailing smoke that spreads and lifts, 

To vanish from my sight too soon, 

Bearing thy wealth of joy and woe, 

How splendidly I see thee go! 

And often in the summer night, 

While half awake I lie and dream, 

Watching the ghostly bars of light 

Along the swaying curtains gleam. 

I hear the rumble of the train 

Crossing the bridge beyond the town, 

A sudden wail of fear or pain, 

And then the silence settles down. 

But, best of all, 
To watch the world, 
Glide backward past 
The window-panes 
While nearer, nearer, 
Nearer whirl'd, 
The fever burning 
In my veins. 
I homeward fly 
Across the plains! 

59 



Then swing, ye lamps, and ring, ye bells, 
And speed, O, train, along the rail! 
Through burst of sun or rain or hail, 
Sweep on with great clean giant stride. 
Across the prairies, dim and wide! 
(No knight that sought the Holy Grail 
E'er harboured such an eager quest 
As that which burns within my breast) 
The rocks that wrap the mountain-side 
Shall waken from their age-long dreams, 
What time thy head-light redly gleams, 
And thunder down the darkened world. 
The sleeper, turning in his sleep, 
Shall hear the echo down the vale, 
And still the lamps their watches keep 
While thou in triumph onward sweep, 
Their faithful watch that shall not fail 
Until beneath the echoing dome, 
At dawn of day thou bring me home. 

THE CRY OF THE WORKERS 

The babblers in the temple made with hands 

Sat talking, talking, talking, all the day, 

Of rectitude and justice, and the way, 

The world should walk, obeying their commands 

And while the glass recorded golden sands, 

And shadows lengthened in the busy street, 

There came a sound of swift determined feet, 

And blows upon the portal's brazen bands, 

And then a voice, relentless and elate: 

"We care not for your arguments and creeds, 

We care not for your pity or your hate, 

We clamour not for theories, but deeds, 

Then give us of the heart, and not the head 

Then give us for our toil, not stones, but bread !" 



60 



COMING HOME 

Oh, the road is dark, 

And the stars are stark 

In the heaven wide and still, 

But youth is strong, 

Though the way be long, 
For Love lies over the hill. 

Soft in her dewy sleep she lies, 

Wrapt in a web of dreams, 
Hiding the light of her liquid eyes, 

Till the flame of my candle gleams. 

Here in the awe of the autumn night. 

Strangely my fancies stir, 
Swift as the course of the wild duck's flight 

Winging their way to her. 

Ah, slow, too slow, are my eager feet. 

Nearer and yet more near, 
Still does my heart to my heart repeat, 

The woes of a witless fear. 

Long is the day 

I have been away 

But heart of my heart, be still, 

For fear is past, 

And I see at last 
Where my Love lies, over the hill. 

THE SONG OF DEAD CITIES 

I played a gay Italian air, 
And Venice swam into my soul 
With laughter of the young and fair, 
And swinging barcarolle. 

61 



But presently my song grew mute, 
For beat on beat I heard arise, 
The silvery note of harp and flute 
Beneath Italian skies, 

But all the streets that round me spread, 
With cosmic voices like the sea, 
Gave back the dirges of the dead 
That are and are to be! 

AMBITION 

She dwelt with me in days when life was young 
Beneath the tiles, and shared my meagre lot, 
And when my heart with bitter pain was wrung 
She sat beside my cot. 

Then came another who was called Success 
Deckt like an harlot, and did drive her thence. 
The dear companion of my toil and stress, 
And my sweet recompense. 

So day and night I lived like other men 
With song and wassail and with friends a score, 
And ever dreamed that she would come again 
And enter at my door. 

But still she came not, while Success grew cold, 
And ceased to smile as in her early days; 
My hand grew feeble, and my heart was old 
And clouded were my ways. 

But one fair morn when all my store was spent 
And all my hopes were crumbling into dust, 
Success took back the gifts that she had lent, 
And left me with my crust. 



62 



Yet not alone, for through unusual tears, 
I saw her enter whom I thought so dead. 
Star-eyed Ambition of my happier years, 
With promise garlanded ! 

MY DARLING SLEPT AN ENDLESS- 
SEEMING SLEEP 

My darling slept an endless-seeming sleep, 

Her hands so meekly folded on her breast, 

Till through the blinds I saw the daylight peep 

Upon her silent rest. 

It touched her lips, half-sighing and apart, 

And wrought a golden mist upon her hair, 

And suddenly a woe assailed my heart, 

To see her lying there. 

"Awake, my Love, the sun is in the sky, 
And drives the phantoms of the night away! 
I fear your sleep, nor know the reason why; 
Awake, and see the day!" 

TO AN OBSTRUCTIONIST 

This would I say to you, dull brow of woe, 

Mourning our county's loss of noble aim, 

Framing a lengthy bill of surly blame 

Against the stouter men who face the foe ; 

Not such as you, in that loved long ago, 

Rose in the might of their majestic scorn, 

And full of faith in us, as yet unborn, 

Won us the country that you cherish so; 

But such as you sat at the chimney-side, 

Cursing the folly of their fellow-men, 

Praising the "good old times" while others died 

That Liberty entombed might rise again. 

And now their sons, with that same flag unfurled, 

March down the widening highways of the world. 

63 



THE THIRTY-FIRST OF MAY 

Marred as the tattered flags they bear, 
Here in the joyous morn, 
Behind the bugle's cheering blare, 
I catch a note forlorn. 

For fewer now than yester year, 
With halting step and slow, 
Nursing a memory grim and dear, 
The waving columns go. 

These, in their splendid boyhood days, 
Seared by the battle's breath, 
Winning imperishable praise, 
Walked arm in arm with death. 

And, oh, the day when they returned 
To meet their great reward, 
And through a thousand cities burned 
The bayonet and the sword ! 

Now, yearly, in some grizzled face, 
We read the tale sublime, 
And wistful fancy still may trace, 
The record of that time, 

The faith that in those epic years 
Left no great deed undone, 
Until this land, through blood and tears, 
They welded into one. 



6 4 



THE HEART'S DESIRE 

At dawn and noon and set of sun, 

Seeking my heart's desire, 

I count the minutes one by one, 

Till I see the west, when the day is done, 

Flame like a forest fire. 

What is the burden of my request? 
What are the wild wind's ways? 
Where is the goal of the heart's unrest. 
Seeking the thing that it loves the best, 
Its uneventful days? 

Much have I loved in the hours of dawn, 

Much in the hours of noon. 

What, when the shadows are longer drawn, 

And the last red banner of day is gone 

And night is coming soon? 

Only the chance of a fight to win, 
The deed that my soul loves best, 
Only the call of the battle's din, 
And then the peace of the heart within 
The bourn of the soldier's rest. 

ON ENTERING A NEW HOUSE 

Peace to this house where we shall enter in, 

Here let the world's hoarse din 

Against the panels dash itself in vain, 

Like gusts of autumn rain; 

Here, knowing no man's sway, 

In the brief pauses of the fight, 

Let music sound, and love and laughter light 

Refresh us for the day. 



6s 



The window waits where I shall sit me down 
And sing a quiet song, 

When sleep descends upon the darkening town, 
And winter nights are long. 

Then with the dawn I'll fling the casement wide 
And o'er the brimming tide 
I'll send it forth as Noah sent his dove 
Across the world of waves on wandering wings of 
love 

TEUCER 

When Teucer fled his native land, 
Dear Salamis, his ancient home, 

He thus addressed his mournful band, 
Long wont with him to roam: 

"To-morrow we shall spread our sails, 

And try again the rolling deep, 
To-night we will not fear the gales 

That through the darkness sweep. 

Then pass the cup from each to each, 

Let faces in the firelight glow, 
Though in the intervals of speech 

We hear the tempest blow, 

And raise the song to Fortune's praise, 
Far kinder than my sire is she, 

And she will guide our lonely ways, 
Upon the trackless sea!" 

So Teucer spoke, and with the morn 
He shook the flapping canvas free, 

What time the new moon's fading horn 
Dipt down into the sea. 



66 



Full many days and nights he sped, 
Across the heaving midland tide, 

The stars that whirled above his head 
Reflected at his side. 

And some companions, fearing sore, 
Turned back from that heroic quest, 

Grounding their galleys on the shore, 
In an inglorious rest. 

But he pressed on with comrades ten, 
Who oft had suffered graver ills, 

A band of tried and trusty men, 
Upon the Trojan hills. 

And still his prow was pointed west, 
And still the rolling of the surge 

Rained the salt spray upon his breast, 
And beckoned toward the verge, 

Until he reached a desert land, 
Embosomed in the boundless blue, 

And on the foaming length of strand 
Began his life anew. 

A ROMAN REVEL 

We started in the evening with our torches burning 
bright, 
With a recklessness of purpose, in a whirlwind of 
delight, 
And our grappling-hooks were ready for the feats 
of mimic war: 
"Galatea, Galatea, we will batter down your 
door!" 



67 



There was Remmius Palaemon, ablest master of the 
schools, 
He could teach the Roman epic, for he knew the 
epic rules, 
And the lyric poet Bassus, second Flaccus of our 
days, 
And my own dear friend Lucanus, singer of 
heroic lays. 

Now we jeered a rustic aedile as we passed him in 
the street, 
Then we seized a one-eyed beggar and we tript 
him off his feet, 
But he called the city watchman and we heard them 
come apace, 
And I lost my crown of roses as we scattered 
from the place. 

I lost my crown of roses, and we lost Palaemon too, 
When we reached the vile Subura he had van- 
ished from our view, 
Then Lucanus met a damsel he had worshipped long 
before, 
Neither prayers nor threats could move him, so 
we left him at her door. 

In the vinous cloud enveloped still we wandered on 
our way, 
And I heard the voice of Bassus as he sang a lyric 
lay, 
Sang of brave old King Aeneas in a mystic misty 
glow, 
When he went to see Queen Dido in the days of 
long ago. 

But his voice grew faint and fainter, and the torches' 
fitful fire 
Showed a face all worn and weary with the rav- 
age of desire, 

68 



Till he fell upon the pavement with a deep, de- 
sponding groan, 
And the servants bore him homeward while I 
held my way alone. 

Night was verging toward the morning when I 
past the city gate, 
Half a thousand paces farther, and I paused dis- 
consolate, 
For the silence of the country fell upon me with a 
chill, 
And the tombstones straggled upward by the road 
across the hill. 

But I wrestled with my terror, and when day began 
to break 
I could see the little villa in the woods beside the 
lake, 
And I thought with sudden sorrow, as I neared the 
wished-for goal, 
How the beauty of the springtime mocked the 
winter of my soul. 

Then I pictured to my fancy how I sat in robes of 
white, 
With a ring of rare sardonyx, as befits a Roman 
knight, 
How I read my bitter satires, and above the cries of 
all 
Heard the "Euge!" of Lucanus thunder through 
the crowded hall. 

What to me were all the honours that had crowned 
my fevered youth? 
What the rules of wise Cornutus, in the face of 
simple truth? 



6 9 



Just the shadow of phantom that would lure my 
footsteps on, 
Leave me weary by the wayside when the morn 
of life was gone. 

Thus I pondered, walking slowly, then I raised my 
heavy eyes, 
Saw my darling running toward me with a cry 
of glad surprise, 
Bare of foot, with hair unloosened, in her simple 
girlish grace, 
And the shadows fled my spirit in the sunlight of 
her face. 

HYMN TO MINERVA 

Standing in thy simple splendour, 

Mother of a matchless world, 
We have come in sweet surrender, 

Long by bitter tempests whirl'd, 
'Mid the thoughts that swarmed and darkened, 

And the doubts that drove us dumb, 
We have heard thy voice and harkened, 

See thy tired children come. 

Though we heard thee in the morning, 

Yet we feared thy perfect grace, 
Till the season's somber warning 

Threw a shadow on our face; 
Sick at last of modern longing, 

Wearied of the trump and drum, 
Up thy gleaming stairway thronging, 

See thy tired children come. 

Through the Parian portals streaming, 

Sleeps the sunlight on the floor, 
In the twilight, grandly dreaming, 

Stand the gods forevermore; 

70 



Like a vision climbs the city, 

Through the azure Attic air, 
While we pause and crave thy pity, 

Thronging up they gleaming stair. 

Pride triumphant over passion, 

Mind triumphant over man, 
Faith transcending flitting fashion, 

Let him love the gods who can ! 
Let him leave the valleys lying 

In the drifting shroud of night, 
Greet the goddess, the undying, 

Armed and helmeted with light! 

Standing in thy simple splendour, 

Mother of a matchless world, 
We have come in sweet surrender, 

Long by bitter tempests whirl'd ; 
We are sick of modern longing, 

Wearied of the trump and drum, 
Up thy gleaming stairway thronging, 

See thy tired children come. 

THE MESSAGE 

Dear sister, I am fain to rest awhile 
Upon this little temple's marble stair, 

And watch the moon beyond Aegina's Isle, 
And feel the breezes blowing back my hair. 

So fair the night! Here let us sit in peace, 
And count these apples mellowed by the sun, 

A gift for Nisus, that he may not cease 

To prize the love his own sweet words have won. 

I cannot tell what thoughts are his to-night, 
Or whether any thought of love there be, 



71 



1 only see the morning shining bright 
Upon the eyes that looked so kind on me. 

You saw him, sister, in the rapid race, 
Fly far afront, like Eurus in his might, 

You saw the eager beauty of his face, 
The flashing of a free and fierce delight. 

Ah, how I love the pride that scorned defeat! 

Yet, when my tongue would praise him with the 
rest, 
My spirit failed, and in confusion sweet, 

I hid my burning face upon your breast. 

So, when the songs of triumph all are sung, 
Go, lay these apples at his open door, 

And say Aglaia chides her silent tongue, 

Nor loves him less than those who praised him 
more. 

TO LESBIA'S SPARROW 

From Catullus 

Little sparrow, her delight, 
With your eyes of amber bright, 

At a word 
You will fly your golden cage, 
When her grief she would assuage 

With her bird. 

When I see my darling smile, 
Holding up her hand the while 

To your bite, 
Can her gentle heart divine, 
Can she know what woe is mine, 

At the sight? 



72 



Could she know the love that stings, 
When she folds your little wings 

In her breast, 
Surely she would grant to me 
One sweet moment's ecstasy, 

There to rest! 

PARIS REDIVIVUS 

Two thousand years ago, at Sulla's word, 
A cargo of Greek deities 
Swam on the wide blue spaces of the seas. 
Blithe as a bird 

The good ship dashed the spray, 
Winging her azure way, 
And unafraid the sailors' song 
Rang on the waters as she sped along. 
But near Cythera's Isle 
The blue sky ceased to smile, 
And night came down too soon, 
Veiling the splendor of the autumn moon. 
Then in the dark a sudden wail of fear, 
And frenzied prayers to ears that could not hear; 
Till, just as morning broke upon the sea, 
Sailor and carven deity 

Plunged the last time beneath the climbing foam, 
And left still unadorned great Sulla's splendid 
home. 

Sulla was gone, and these were soon forgot. 

Wrapt in their sad sea dreams they heeded not 

The great world's little great. 

They knew not of that gentle light which brake 

Upon the world in Bethlehem's lowly shed, 

Nor heard the words they spake, 

Those angels bright above that sacred bed, 

Whose song the gods' sure conqueror heralded. 



73 



The sands crept on apace 
Above each classic face, 
And seaweeds' slimy strands 
Wrapt the white fingers of those marble hands. 
Instead of suppliant's tread 
That once had echoed in their pillar'd hall, 
They heard the seamew's call 
By their unhonored bed; 

They saw the strange, dim monsters sailing by 
Between their deepening grave and that far, 
changeless sky. 

Great Rome became a legend to men's ears. 
Another race, with other hopes and fears, 
Watered the fertile earth with their dear blood and 

tears. 
One morning, on the Aegean's heaving floor, 
There broke a sudden roar; 
Turk and Venetian in a grim embrace 
Drove by in battle din above that place. 
Surely, Zeus thundered on his ancient throne, 
Surely, he spake again 
Among the race of men, 
And by his angry bolt the shattered wrecks were 

strown ! 

These too were gone their unreturning way, 

Kings of an hour and kingdoms of a day. 

The world grew round; above man's wondering 

head 
Star-dust and comet whirl'd, and suns unnumbered. 
Homeric dreams came true and man once more, 
Scorning the labor of the sail and oar, 
Sped in Phaeacian ships, nor feared the unfriendly 

shore. 



74 



At last a diver, seeking scanty gain 

Along the marge of that unfruitful main, 

Searching the rocks where swaying sponges clung, 

Bent lower down, 

And found the gods that Sophocles had sung: 

Grey-eyed Athene of the violet crown, 

Hermes and Hera in confusion thrown, 

With matted weeds o'ergrown, 

And marred by centuries of sands above them blown. 

Strange was his tale, the resurrection strange ! 

Again from out the caverns of the deep, 

Battered and wasted in their age-long sleep, 

Monstrous they rise to view a world of change. 

Themselves how changed! Upon the dripping 
shore 

Shapeless they lie whose once surpassing line 

Had breathed a soul divine, 

Before whose sacred door, 

In darkened days of old, 

Men brought their prayers and gold, 

Nor dared the murmurous gloom of that seques- 
tered shrine. 

And these were dead indeed; but one remained, 

Shattered and marred and stained, 

Though lovely still. 

And when, with subtle skill 

And patient art, 

The workman's hand restored each broken part, 

Forming the bronze anew, 

Splendid he stood in all his youthful prime, 

As when Lysippus stayed his master hand, 

And on his raptured view 

Paris arose, a mortal youth triumphant over time. 



75 



Eager his poise, and in his outstretched hand 

The golden apple for his goddess fair ; 

No hint as yet is there 

In that bright face 

Of treason's searing brand, 

Of Ilion in the whirlwind flame's embrace; 

Nor of that day, of evil days the best, 

When he shall stem the crested waves of woe, 

And in the ranks hard pressed 

Shall lay Achilles low, 

Speeding the winged shaft from his unerring bow. 

But these are figments of the poet's art. 

He, in a strange and unimagined wise 

Restored to human eyes, 

Stands ever thus apart, 

Viewed by the restless, transitory throng 

That pass the echoing corridor along. 

There, in a mood divine, 

He lifts his radiant head, 

Joyous as at the first, 

Though centuries have fled, 

A mortal youth for maiden's love athirst, 

Mortal, yet deathless when the gods are dead. 

CATULLUS TO LESBIA 

As many as the stars of night, 

That from their deep, impassioned height 

View stolen loves of men, 
Or as the sands beside the sea, 
So many kisses kiss thou me, 

Again and yet again! 



7 6 



SONG 

(Suggested by Ovid) 

It was the glorious Junetime, 

And all the world was still, 
The slumber of the noontime 

Lay over vale and hill. 

The languid sheep were on the shore, 

The lizard sought the stone, 
And I, within my darkened door, 

Lay weary and alone. 

And as I lay a-dreaming, 
The door was opened wide, 

I saw the sunlight streaming 
Across the countryside. 

But brighter than the sun of noon, 

And fresher than the sea, 
And sweeter than the rose of June, 

Corinna came to me. 

Go, laurel wreath, about my brow, 

And sing, triumphant lay, 
Within my heart she's captive now, 

Forever and a day! 

LAMENT OF THE THEBAN VIRGINS FOR 
ETEOCLES AND POLYNICES 

Chorus 

Omnipotent Zeus, and gods of our land, 
Who have saved our towers with outstretched hand, 
Mighty preservers! 

77 



Shall I sing as they bring glad news from afar, 
How our soldiers stood 'mid the waves of war, 

Dauntless defenders? 
Or shall dirges arise, as with streaming eyes 
I mourn for the light of Thebes that dies? 
For the heroes twain in the fierce fight slain 
Let the salt tears flow, as sad and slow 
We wail for the dead who have gone below, 

Equal offenders! 

Strophe 

sad the fate that comes, though late, 
To the sons of Oedipus, sons of hate! 
And to my heart what terrors dart, 
As Thyad-wise with phrensied eyes, 

1 raise my unavailing cries! 

I raise a dirge for the fallen head, 

The twain who fought, the twain who bled, 

Alas! now numbered with the dead! 

The fateful song of luckless spears 

Is ringing, ringing in my ears, 

I mourn with unavailing tears! 

Antistrophe 

Accursed sire! thy fell desire 

Brought woes incredible, sword and fire! 

Alas, the horror passing faith! 

Alas, the brothers' double death! 

And slowly through the city street 

I hear the muffled marching feet. 

Strophe 

Ah, true alas! the message, for a double-dealing 

doom 
Has fallen on our heroes, and I see them born along 

78 



The unreturning journey, while the sorrow of the 

tomb 
Now comes to dwell beside the hearths that once 

were glad with song. 

Antistrophe 

But, O my dearest friends, before a storm of sighs, 
Ply about the head an urging stroke of hands, 
And send the black-sailed ship on which the hero 

lies 
Adown the stream of Acheron to unseen, sunless 

lands! 

THE SMOKER'S REVERIE 

Had Horace known tobacco's pleasure 
He never would have wasted measure, 
And wealth of epithet divine, 
On Lydian maid and Massic wine, 
For smoking brings us twice the gladness, 
Without the headache or the madness. 

When Thaliarchus brought the cup, 
And Horace heaped the driftwood up, 
When all without was night and snow, 
And all within was cheerful glow, 
Their happiness, though great indeed, 
Still lacked the comfort of the weed. 

The poets often spend their hours 
In writing verses about flowers, 
They sing of lotos, eglantine, 
Geranium and jessamine; 
To me the weed is fairer still 
That nods upon the sunny hill. 



79 



Deep-rooted in the fruitful earth, 
It slowly grows in size and worth, 
And one by one come heavenly dreams 
To hide within its leafy seams, 
And what is best in earth and air 
Combines to make the gift more rare. 

At last it hangs upon the wall, 
Where dews at evening gently fall, 
The western breezes softly blow, 
And sing sweet songs of long ago, 
The noonday sun comes blazing down, 
And turns it beautifully brown. 

And now I fill my meerschaum pipe 
With nature's gift, serene and ripe, 
And though the ashes, cold and dead, 
May symbolize the hopes now fled, 
Yet once again the smoke shall rise, 
Like aspirations, to the skies. 

PERVIGILIUM VENERIS 

"Cras amet qui nunquam amavit, quique amavit 
eras amet." 

Let him love a maid to-morrow wjio has never 

known love's ways, 
Let him love again to-morrow who has loved in 

other days. 
Spring has come, the sunny Springtime: Jupiter 

was born in Spring: 
Now the cupids come a-courting, now the birds their 

nuptials sing; 
Now the grove her hair unloosens for her fruitful 

lord, the rain, 
And to-morrow through the shadows Venus comes 

to earth again. 

80 



She will build a woodland bower from the myrtle all 

her own, 
While Dione rules her subjects, seated on a lofty 

throne. 
Let him love a maid to-morrow who has never 

known love's ways. 
Let him love again to-morrow who has loved in 

other days. 

Pleasure makes the country fruitful, Venus there 

her sceptre wields, 
Love himself, Dione's darling, Love was born in 

sunny fields, 
And Dione took her darling to the shade of scented 

bowers, 
In her bosom gently bore him, showered him with 

purple flowers. 
Let him love a maid to-morrow who has never 

known love's ways, 
Let him love again to-morrow who has loved in 

other days. 

She herself upon the hamlets that regard her kindly 

power 
Scatters rosebuds, zephyr-nurtured, in a bright and 

fragrant shower, 
And the dews which night departing leaves a-glim- 

mer on the ground 
Are the gems Dione flings us as she wings the world 

around. 
Let him love a maid to-morrow who has never 

known love's ways, 
Let him love again to-morrow who has loved in 

other days. 

See the tears that start and tremble, shimmer there 

though yet unshed; 
See the flush a rose resemble, as the maiden hangs 

her head! 

81 



Dews upon her lashes linger like the dews of quiet 

night, 
Till at length her heart unprisons all her bosom's 

fair delight. 
Let him love a maid to-morrow who has never 

known love's ways, 
Let him love again to-morrow who has loved in 

other days. 

And the goddess has commanded that the nymphs 
together go 

To the grove of sacred myrtle where the breezes 
murmur low : 

Ah, but Love is found among them, and they ques- 
tion in dismay, 

"If he carries bow and arrows is he keeping holi- 
day?" 

Onward, nymphs! for Love is harmless, he has laid 
his arms apart; 

Stripped of all his golden arrows, can he wound 
a maiden's heart? 

Yet beware, dear nymphs, beware him! Little Love 
without his bow 

Wanders fully armed among you : fair is little Love, 
I trow! 

Let him love a maid to-morrow who has never 
known love's ways, 

Let him love again to-morrow who has loved in 
other days. 

Delia, Venus sends thee maidens like thyself in 
purity : 

Yet we beg thee, leave the forest; Cupid's rites are 
not for thee. 

Let the altars flame and flicker in the dusk of dis- 
tant bowers; 

Leave the maidens to the Muses and the fragrance 
of the flowers. 

82 



Venus fain would have thee present, have thee view 

the sacred rite, 
See the maidens dance a measure through the starry 

summer night, 
Yet she fears it is not fitting that thy virgin eyes 

should see 
Floral crowns and myrtle bowers in the grove so 

dear to thee. 
She will summon fruitful Ceres, Bacchus with his 

ivy-rods, 
And Apollo will be present, lyric poet of the gods. 
They will keep the sacred vigil, listen to the harp's 

delight : 
Delia must leave the forest; Venus rules the world 

to-night. 
Let him love a maid to-morrow who has never 

known love's ways, 
Let him love again to-morrow who has loved in 

other days. 

She has ordered her tribunal to be heaped with 

Hybla's flowers, 
And the Graces will be present through the night's 

ambrosial hours, 
And the maidens from the mountains, underneath 

the spreading trees, 
With the happy hamadryads, will come dancing 

down the breeze. 
Thus she bids the gentle maidens to be present; 

every one, 
But beware her winged darling for the mischief he 

has done. 
Let him love a maid to-morrow who has never 

known love's ways, 
Let him love again to-morrow who has loved in 

other days. 



83 



Sec beneath the growing shadows, where the herd 

has gone to rest: 
In the woods the birds are mating at the goddess's 

behest : 
And the swans that float reflected, they have felt 

her subtle sway, 
They are singing o'er the water, down the wind 

and far away. 
They are singing, we are silent. When will come 

my gracious Spring? 
May Apollo grant his favour to the songs that I 

would sing! 
Let him love a maid to-morrow who has never 

known love's ways, 
Let him love again to-morrow who has loved in 

other days. 

HYMNUS ACADEMICUS MATUTINUS 

Nunc iubar solis trepidans rubescit, 
Nosque surgentes, animis refectis, 

Laudibus claris hilares canemus 
Omnipotentem. 

Ut Deus nostras studiis diei 

Roboret mentes, tacitae per umbras 

Noctis ut servet vigilans, fideli 
Corde precamur. 

Praesidem doctum et iuvenes et omnes 

Rore doctores benedictionis 
Ille suffundat pater angelorum, 

Hie et ubique, 

Semper ut nobis liceat canamus 
Ad thronum stantes penitus beati, 

Ut volens sanctos Deitas redemptos 
Fronde coronet. 

8 4 



LEAVES 

It rained all night, and the wind was loud, 
The shutters shivered against the wall, 
The trees by the sidewalk strained and bowed, 
And the gutters roared with the waterfall. 

I sat alone in my little room, 

And my spirit stirred with a fierce delight, 

As I looked from the window and saw the gloom, 

And a swaying blur of electric light. 

That night the storm with its solemn beat, 
Its pitiless patter upon the pane, 
Seemed like the march of myriad feet, 
The midnight march of the misty rain. 

And I turned on my side with a deep content, 
Soothed by the drowsy lullaby, 
Till night was gone, and the storm was spent, 
And the sun shone clear in a cloudless sky. 

"Since we all are leaves on the tree of life 

I care not a whit," to myself I said, 

"If my lucky neighbour endure more strife 

With the rough east winds in the boughs o'erhead. 

A little sunshine, a little rain, 
A few brief moments of wind-tossed pride, 
By the first fierce breath of the autumn slain, 
We go fluttering downward, side by side." 



8s 



THE GREAT GRAY ARCH 

{Cathedral of St. John the Divine) 

Thou promise, like the promise set of old 
Among the clouds above a world laid waste, 
Illumined by the sunset's fringe of gold, 
From yonder heat and haste 

To thee I come, after long pain and scath, 
After long buffeting upon that sea 
Whose hollow billows foam immortal wrath, 
And sad mortality. 

See where the city with its million eyes 
Mirrors the last long light of lingering day, 
Its streets tumultuous with mingled cries 
Of passion, toil, and play! 

And what its thought, if any thought is stirred 
By thee, deep-bedded on thy rocky height, 
Thou silent symbol of the spoken word, 
And gateway of the light. 

To eyes incurious that hurry fast, 
Or blinded by the gloom of golden greed, 
Art thou the ruin of a prisoned past, 
And of an outworn creed? 

Not thus they will who build thy bastions here! 
But theirs the older faith, without a name 
Save His who lived on earth, yet knew no fear 
Of earthly praise or blame. 

Lo, where the red, reluctant sunbeams slant 
Down through the grove, I see a white-robed choir, 
And hear the swelling of an ancient chant, 
Voicing the world's desire. 

86 



The drowsy birds that stirred the air but now 
With their last evensong are silent grown ; 
Still from the wind is every reaching bough, 
Still as the carven stone, 

While through dim eyes I see the echoing aisle, 
Pillar and nave and climbing window rise, 
And high above the song-created pile 
The Cross against the skies. 



87 



IN EXTREMIS 

Those little hands that I so oft have kissed 
That trembled in her terror and delight, 
Those little feet that kept her lover's tryst 
In the sweet silence of the summer night — 
How strange the memory of that starlit way 
In the grim menace of the garish day! 

For that was sweet indeed, but sweeter still, 
This moment in the pause before the fight, 
Her faith undreamed, the all-enduring will 
That sends me forth her lover and her knight, 
This story of the Spartan wife retold 
Living again within her heart of gold. 



88 



JAN 14 191 ! 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



K 1911 



- • ■ : ■ 



ffwR 






5 HK 



nv> 



Hi 

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



020 994 532 






i 



MSB 




. - ' - 

>■■;-- fl ••-.-■ 

I. . .• n 



**■ SVC,--; ri 

:■>?■'.■ 






W* 







H 



I ■■'■• MA .• 

". i r-.- ••■■ ••- : - '■■■•*■-■ - 









-Mm 



